


#PowerpointNight #FYP

by this_is_not_nothing



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, art jokes and snacks, just friends hanging out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing
Summary: David, Patrick & Stevie have a Tik Tok inspired PowerPoint Presentation Night
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Stevie Budd, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 32
Kudos: 100





	#PowerpointNight #FYP

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegrayness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayness/gifts).



> Happy happy happy birthday Gray, you are the very best—kind and funny and supportive and ilu ✨
> 
> Thanks to Liz and Audra for the help

Stevie shows up for Powerpoint Night with a bottle of Arbor Mist and a glint in her eye. David is immediately suspicious. He pulls her in for a hug anyway, he hasn’t seen her in a month—she’s been travelling for work again lately.

“I even brought my laptop,” she says, heading into the living room.

“Stevie, hi,” Patrick yells from the kitchen. He’s making pigs in a blanket, of course David is very excited.

David made a big pitcher of cosmos for them—he’s gotten pretty good at making drinks since he’s become a home-owner. He looks around their small cottage. In just a year it feels more like home than anywhere he’s ever lived. Even the motel, which he would prefer not to think about. The memories of his loft are certainly more visually appealing, but that cursed teal wall is the backdrop to every good thing that’s happened to him.

Stevie flops on the couch, taking up more room with her tiny frame than he will ever understand, and accepts the drink.

“Don’t ask—I’m not getting you a straw. You can sit up like a normal person.”

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes and sits up to take a sip. “These are good. We can save my Arbor Mist for later.”

“Thanks, I know.” David takes a sip, these _are_ nice.

“What are those?” Stevie’s eyes the platter of tiny toasts like they are going to do her bodily harm.

“Ricotta crostinis—Patrick ordered up some cheese the other week.”

“Ordered up some cheese? What does that even mean?” Stevie snarks, taking one and biting into it dramatically. “This is good.”

“I know—do you think we would serve you _bad snacks_?”

Stevie shrugs, which is more grating than anything she could say. She _knows_ they always have good snacks and she still brings them terrible wine. 

Patrick walks in then, with a platter of tiny hot dogs wrapped in puffed pastry and David grabs one immediately, hoping it won’t burn his mouth. Well, it’s hot, but David makes it work, and chases it with a restorative sip of his drink.

Patrick claps his hands together once. “Okay, who’s going first?”

“I’m going last,” Stevie announces from her spot on the couch.

David feels a tiny ping of anxiety—what if his idea is dumb? “You can go first,” he tells Patrick.

Patrick pulls up his presentation, titled _Sports Mascots Who Sound Like They Could Be Villains._ The first slide is a weird, terrifyingly orange, deranged muppet. “So here we have Gritty, the mascot for the Philadelphia Flyers. Like all villains, he looks slightly unhinged. Not entirely malicious, he would be the kind of _Looney Tunes_ -esque villain who foiled your plans at every turn.”

Patrick flips to the next slide and there’s a picture of a man with a baseball head. “Here we have Mr. Met, who could definitely be a Bond villain. His smooth white head, and vague attempt at looking trustworthy, he secretly loves launching things into crowds.”

David and Stevie can’t stop laughing at the next one—Steely McBeam, mascot for the Pittsburgh Steelers. “Is that even a real thing?” David asks through his giggles.

“Oh, I assure you, David, he’s very real. And with a name like that, one would expect him to melt steel beams with a single withering glance.”

The rest of Patrick’s presentation devolves. The more seriously he takes it, the harder Stevie and David laugh, until Patrick reaches the end. He holds on for a solid three seconds before doubling over laughing, joining them. “That was—surprisingly fun,” he eventually gasps out.

David refills their drinks and takes his place at the front of the room, pulling up his first slide.

It reads _people we know as surrealist objects,_ in Helvetica Neue, in 85% black on a white background. If nothing else, his presentation will be the only one that looks like it could be pulled from Communication Arts. 

The second slide is a picture of Man Ray’s _Indestructible Object,_ a metronome type thing with a cutout image of an eye on the pendulum, next to a picture of Ronnie. “This should be self explanatory,” David says, flipping to the next slide, ignoring the look Stevie and Patrick exchange.

Next he pulls up a picture of Meret Oppeheim’s _Object,_ a tea cup and saucer constructed from fur, next to a picture of Twyla. “Here we have two things that are confounding, but highly enjoyable—despite being impractically optimistic about their functionality.”

He compares Ray to Salvador Dalí’s _Lobster Telephone_ and Stevie and Patrick occasionally giggle, but David can’t tell if it’s at the art or his presentation. David eventually wraps his up to bewildered (Stevie) and fond (Patrick) faces and takes his place back on the couch.

Patrick leans over and kisses him. “Good job.” 

“Thanks, honey.” David kisses him again.

“Okay, my turn.” Stevie sets up her laptop and pulls up a slide that reads _David’s faces as excel features_ in yellow Comic Sans on a black background.

“I object. No.” David says immediately. Patrick is quietly vibrating with laughter next to him. 

“Duly noted,” Stevie says, flicking to the next slide. It’s David’s face, huge on their TV, one eyebrow raised in judgement and his mouth in a petrified grimace. His teeth are visible, which is incorrect in this context. Next to his face, written in lavender Papyrus, is the word _sort._

“Okay, I object. That’s not even an Excel function,” Patrick says, indignant.

“Also noted.” The next slide is the same horrible picture, but now it says _SUM_ next to his face in one of those all caps fonts people think look old timey but are just ugly.

“Stevie,” Patrick says, a note of frustrated annoyance creeping into his voice. 

“This _whole_ night was your idea. You didn’t even try,” David says, his voice hitting a pitch he likes to avoid when possible.

The third slide is the same photo with the word _bold_ written in an italics. 

Patrick huffs. “That’s definitely not an Excel function.”

The fourth slide is the same photo again, but zoomed in on David’s mouth, with the words _add a row_ written in a generic bold type. 

“You know what, enough.” David steals her cosmo and throws it back. “Enjoy your Arbor Mist, you menace.”

“Should I keep going?” Stevie smirks, nonplussed by either her downgraded beverage or her friends' feelings.

“No,” David and Patrick say together. Patrick turns off the TV, David's mouth fading into a black screen.

Stevie settles back on the couch, unscrewing the cap off her wine and taking a big swig out of the bottle. “Gotta keep you humble.”

Patrick turns to her, his eyes calculating. “You know, you could just say you missed us like a normal person.”

Stevie makes a face remarkably like the one David’s was frozen in on-screen moments ago. “You’re the only person in the world who would be sincere at a time like this.” 

David laughs, because Stevie is the only person who being nice to would be an insult.

“Next time, my Powerpoint will be on actual Excel functions,” Patrick says.

“See what you’ve done,” David whines.

“Oh, there will be no next time,” Stevie says at the same time. “Even this was more effort than I want to put into anything.”


End file.
